Overcome
by Ansujali
Summary: Based on the 2005 movie - picking up the story with the trainwreck proposal in the rain which ends with Darcy actually kissing Lizzy. Having just rejected Darcy's proposal, Lizzy has to come to terms with her conflicting feelings. When tragedy hits the Bennet family, Darcy & Lizzy each need to overcome their difficulties to maintain a chance on happiness in their lives.
1. Chapter 1 - Overcome by the moment

_**A/N: This is my first try on a P&P fanfiction, let alone a Regency area story. I'm no JA buff and I'm German – so this story will hassle as much with the canon as with the language. I won't pretend I can do correct Regency talk, but if you find an abominable error, tell me – I'm willing to learn ;-) This is a work in progress – I know the general direction I want to take this but have not worked out all the details yet. Like to read your reviews! Thanks!**_

* * *

CHAPTER 1

**Overcome by the moment**

-~0~-

Darcy's voice dropped to a growling low. „So, _that_ is your opinion of me? Thank you for explaining so fully! Maybe these offenses might have been overlooked if not your pride had been injured by-"

„_My_ pride-?!" Elizabeth interjected, meeting Darcy with disbelief who rode roughshod over her intermission without pause, raising his voice to drown hers out.

„—my honesty in admitting scruples about our relationship! Do you expect me to _rejoice_ in the inferiority of your circumstances?!" He almost spat the last words at her in derision, leaning in and tipping his head slightly, now only mere inches away from her heated face.

Elizabeth looked aghast. „And these are the words of a _gentleman_?" she cried incredulously. Without noticing it, she took a step further towards him, closing the distance between them like a predator, ready to pounce on to him. Her eyes were flashing with fury and anger and had locked fiercely with his.

„From the first moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize you were the last man in the world I could _ever_ be prevailed upon to marry!"

The ensuing silence was deafening although the sound of the pouring rain flooded their ears.

Even through her rage, Elizabeth noticed within an instant that her last words had cut Darcy to the quick as his face suddenly changed colour, paling substantially within the blink of an eye. He pulled back a few inches. All haughtiness and derision was wiped off his features and Elizabeth was stunned to discover a sense of hurt and insecurity in his gaze which had not left her eyes during her tirade. For reasons unbeknownst to her, this observation left her deeply unsettled. Although she had wanted to hurt him in lashing out at him like that, it almost pained her to realize she seemed to have been successful in doing so.

Another second later and the expression on Darcy's face changed again although at first, Elizabeth was at a loss to identify the emotion that suddenly lit his eyes. It was as if he all of a sudden had dropped his guard – his unrestrained, mesmerized gaze now on her lips. He cocked his head and seemed to deliberate about something…

…and then again he leaned in towards her, his eyes never leaving her slightly parted lips, only once flickering up to her eyes as if asking a silent question, pausing his forward movement scarcely noticeable.

His deep gaze made Elizabeth blush wildly and she heard a surge in what seemed her ears, not knowing whether it was the ever pouring rain or her blood rushing to her head. Somewhere deep inside she suddenly felt all thought and fury suspended … leaving only so far unknown feelings and instincts to function … the overwhelming pull to answer his unspoken question, the urge to raise her chin just a bit while getting on her toes to get closer to him, being drawn in by his delicious lips and unguarded, long-lashed eyes which were inexplicably talking to her without words…

… and then – in a soft but swift move bridging the remaining distance between them – Darcy locked his lips to hers.

The sensation that washed over Elizabeth when his soft mouth captured hers in a strong, passionate yet sensitive and sensual kiss sent surges of electricity throughout her body. All the heightened tension she had always felt whenever Darcy was near her now translated into her answering his kiss with the same passion, their tongues meeting and communicating all the mutual attraction they both had experienced over time.

Intoxicated with Darcy's vibrancy, Elizabeth savoured the kiss in all its blazing heat. That very second it seemed like the most natural thing to do, suspending the rain around them, their circumstances, differences, anger, time, even the world's turning must have stopped in this moment that seemed like an eternity.

Then suddenly, the moment was over – thought returned to both. And reason hit them like a lightening bolt.

simultaneously, their eyes opened and they broke the kiss, lingering shortly against one another, then Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock and she pushed herself away from Darcy, panting heavily. Darcy lifted his head slightly and his eyes glittered with disbelief at what had just happened. He frowned.

Elizabeth found her tongue first. She wanted to scream her outrage at Darcy for his behaviour, which was all things ungentlemanly and abominable – basically threatening her reputation in the course of it… but before she could say something she realized in a flash that he might have initiated the kiss but she had obviously participated in it as much as he had. And she had not prevented him from doing so.

Never in her life had she felt so wanton. It was an excruciating thought. And she hated him for it. But even more so herself.

„Lack of propriety, Mr. Darcy?" she said in a low voice, barely more than an angry whisper. „It looks like you were wrong to exclude me from your assessment of my family's inferiority in behaviour. I guess you have proven your point."

Now Darcy's eyes widened with shock and for a moment he looked even scared. Elizabeth assumed in bitterness that it was through her own words that it seemed to dawn on him what kind of abominable woman she was. And it infuriated her to confess he was probably right.

But then again, he was in it with her. Elizabeth took a step towards him again and lowered her voice even more, it now dripping with contempt.

„But don't forget to add _your_ name to the list of people with such lack of propriety. Maybe you are not as superior as you think, after all. Welcome to the dungeon of inferiority."

With this, she turned on her heels and fled the monument through the ever pouring rain, leaving Darcy behind shaken and speechless.


	2. Chapter 2 - Overcome by shame

Updated for correction of some typos.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

**Overcome with shame**

Darcy was stunned senseless by his own actions. He stood stock-still under the roof of the rotunda, his mouth open with words he could not utter, his eyes following Elizabeth as she was hastening away up the sodden path back towards the parsonage.

_Good God, what have I done? _

_I have compromised her. __**Her**__. Of all people. _

_**I**__ of all people. __**I**__ have compromised Elizabeth. _

His eyes blinked rapidly several times in shocked disbelief. How could this have gone so utterly and completely wrong? Desperately, he raised his head to watch the torrential rain pour down from the clouded sky and closed his eyes. Leaning his back heavily against one of the pillars, he tried to make sense of the past minutes.

A moment that he had intended to be the happiest in his life – finally declaring himself after months of torment, asking for her hand in marriage to make her his and fill the aching void in his heart, to fulfil his most ardent dream of a life spent with Elizabeth by his side to love, to hold, to trust – had inexplicably turned into the darkest moment ever, through the utmost disaster of her rejection in the strongest terms, accusing him of conceit, arrogance and selfishness.

He had been so sure of Elizabeth's affection and positive answer to his offer of marriage that he had brought his mother's ring from Pemberley to Rosings. Her determined rejection was something he still could not fathom despite all the reasons Elizabeth had laid out in front of him, leaving him with nothing but a bleak future without her and a heart-broken beyond repair.

Her accusation of separating Bingley from her elder sister pained him because she was true – he had read Miss Bennet's feelings as such of detachment, misjudging her shy affection for his best friend as indifference. He understood that he had made a mistake but believed he would act the same way again – his loyalty towards the people he cared about was without exception and had called for him to interfere as he had believed his friend's heart to be at risk. Yet, he could understand how Elizabeth must have despised him for his role in this unfortunate relationship. That he had highlighted her family's lack of propriety in this matter probably had not helped much, either, judging from the pained look in her eyes. But these eyes had also shown the reluctant acceptance of the truth in his words, as painful as they might have been. He had asked for forgiveness for hurting her with his opinion, but again he could understand that she would hold it against him.

He could _not_ understand, however, how Elizabeth could accuse him of deceiving George Wickham. Wickham, of all things! Instead, during their quarrel his lack of understanding had paired up with a deeply felt rage against the scoundrel who had hurt his sister so significantly and who seemed to have a hand for befuddling the minds and hearts of the women who were dearest to him. On top of his exasperating feeling of rejection and unrequited love for Elizabeth, it had angered him profoundly that she had shown so much interest in Wickham's dealings, let alone that she had believed the scoundrel's twisted tongue. More than she was willing to believe him. That had stung.

But instead of trying to explain – as he had done with Bingley's situation – he had confronted her with this wretched difference in social standing again that she had never denied. Nor had she ever sought his good opinion or asked anything else of him – yes, because she was so enchantingly and profoundly different from all the women of the _ton_ he had met until this point in life. Granted. But also maybe because she knew all too well how different the world's were they were both living in. And his obviously was a source of plain contempt for her. His world of superiority of circumstances.

He shook his head in desperation and combed through his hair with both hands which then rested over his eyes, locking this barren world out.

The ultimate blow was her contempt-laden statement that he would be the last man in the world she would ever marry. No matter how emotionally difficult all the other issues in their argument had been for him, this was the one that brought him to his knees. All the other things could be mended, made whole, rectified. This or the other way. With time. With determination. With commitment. With affection. With love. His love for her. He could have won her over. Perhaps.

But this sentence had slammed the door shut to hope for him on a future with Elizabeth. Had slammed shut the door to love. To a life with meaning. To their children he had pictured so clearly running and laughing her vivid laughter through the halls of Pemberley.

_All my consequence and position, my beloved estate and 10-thousand-a-year – all of which attracted these other women of the _ton_ – all of this would not tempt her to accept me. _

_It is__** me**__. She does not love __**me**__. _

And judging from all she had angrily argued to his face today, she never would. The realization of this truth had been his undoing. Had left him defenseless. Stripped of the shell that usually protected his inner being. And had left him emotionally bare in front of her. All the rage and anger, the hurt and utter loss which had stormed through his heart only seconds before, had suddenly vanished into thin air – and silence had ensued in his soul. The only sparkling flame left burning within him had been his love for her which – somehow – had survived this onslaught of emotion and confrontation unharmed.

And when all the bitter truths and insults had been said and finished with, all that was left of him was him gazing into Elizabeth's eyes - those dancing eyes which had enchanted him the first moment they had met. And those lips. He had not been able to avert his eyes from those. The world had narrowed down to her eyes, her lips, her face – all of which he most likely would never happen to see again.

Something in him had needed to know how she felt - her skin to his skin - to burn the memory into his soul for the lonely years to come. And to be sure she had not just been a dream.

And so he had kissed her.

He could not remember having consciously decided to bend down to her. It just happened. He was in the middle of kissing her before he knew he had begun. Time stopped and her unexpected passionate response to his kiss was all things pure and so full of life that it had elevated him into unknown heights.

He had held his breath as his mouth had released those beautiful, lively, tempting lips his mind had been dreaming of to touch and devour for the last months. For a fleeting moment, just as his lips were still hovering over her face and awareness for their surroundings only started creeping back into his mind again, he had asked himself if this had been just another dream nonetheless - this had felt too good to be true.

_I kissed her._

_And she kissed __**me**__. Passionately._

Not until he had watched Elizabeth's eyes widen in sudden horror, had he come to his full senses and the spell of the moment was broken.

There had been a myriad of emotions dancing over Elizabeth's face after she had pushed him away, none of them friendly. She seemingly had settled on abhorrence and shock, quoting his early opinion of most of her family showing a profound lack of propriety – an assessment she seemed to include herself into now as a result of his inexcusable behaviour.

_I have compromised her. And she blames herself for it._

He was horrified to see that she felt as if she had compromised herself. Which could not be farther from the truth, as the blame was his alone to bear. But at least she knew that he had a large part in the blame as she had accused him of lack of propriety as well.

_Good God, what have I done? _

_I have compromised her. __**Her**__. Of all people. _

_**I**__ of all people. __**I**__ have compromised Elizabeth Bennet, the woman I love. _

He, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, gentleman of the first circles, man of honour, had imposed himself unto an unmarried woman only minutes after she had refused his offer of marriage.

Elizabeth's accusations of his conceit, arrogance and selfish disdain for the feelings of others rang loudly in his ears.

_**A/N: Well done, Darcy! Big sticky mess you left there in the rain.  
More real talk/conversation to finally come in the next chapter. I promise ;-)  
Thanks for the reviews!**_


	3. Chapter 3 - Overcome by saying good-bye

_**A/N: If you find any inconsistencies in this chapter, please let me know – I finished this chapter at 3:30am. It was something I needed to get done with and it was emotionally exhausting to do so. So, please be kind **_**:-) **_**The scene in the parsonage at the end of this chapter was the one that inspired me to this story. I wrote it while listening to the soundtrack of P&P, especially the last piece „End credits", imagining Matthew Macfadyen's incredibly handsome face and eyes delivering Darcy's words and thoughts . And I cried all the way through. Never mind **_**:-) ****I love you, Darcy!**

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Saying good-bye**

**_..._**

After he had glanced around and assured himself that their kiss at the rotunda had not been observed by accident, Darcy returned to the main house of Rosings Park and was relieved he did not meet any of his acquaintances along the way. He entered the dressing room of his chambers where his trusted valet already awaited his master. His valet covertly raised an eyebrow in surprise seeing his master in such a pity state with his clothes drenched and muddy. In silence, Darcy let him assist with his outer wear but dismissed him afterwards. He needed to be alone.

He crossed the room to the wash stand, bent over the basin and splashed some water into his face. Then he paused for a moment as the water dripped from his features, keeping his eyes shut.

_I love you .. I love … love you so ardently, Elizabeth. Why would you not have me? Why would you not have __**us**__?_

For a timeless moment he welcomed the searing pain of rejection which was consuming him. Even if it was tearing him apart, he savoured it for its intensity that attested to the depth of his love for Elizabeth. Never in his life had Darcy ever felt so utterly defeated and robbed of all joy in life, not even after the death of his parents. He could not even start to imagine the days, months and years to come that would not be filled with the love and warmth of the most amazing woman he had ever met but instead of the desolation of a future without hope.

She had rejected him. Because she believed him to be an abominable man of damnable intentions. He was horrified at all her accusations. Did she really see all those traits in him? How could she misjudge him so?

But had she _really_ misjudged him? Had he not been arrogant and conceited and had he cared for the feelings of others when he had imposed himself on her by kissing her without her consent?

_Oh Lord, what have I done? Am I truly the man she sees in me?_

He reached for a cloth to dry his face and straightened his back. He breathed heavily and then opened his eyes again. Upon seeing his reflection in the mirror, he tried to reconcile the man who was looking back at him with the man he had always thought himself to be.

In kissing Elizabeth he had behaved in a dishonorable manner which he had never thought possible. Not of him, a gentleman, a man of honour. All the way back to the house he had been trying to come to terms with what had happened. He was fully aware that if they _had_ been observed, the ramifications would have been dreadful – a forced marriage to save Elizabeth's reputation. As absurd as it was, given she had just rejected him in the strongest terms, he still knew that honour demanded him to offer her marriage yet again to make amends for his improper conduct. He knew she would not accept this as an option but as a gentleman he still had to make the offer. And he _was_ a gentleman even though he had not behaved like one at that moment at the rotunda. At that moment he just had been a _man_, a man violently in love…

The kiss… He would never forget that kiss. Elizabeth had not been afraid when he had bent down and she had not shied away when his lips had touched hers. Instead, to his utter exaltation, after a brief moment of hesitation she had kissed him back passionately – for a few moments oblivious to all the misconceptions and differences that separated them. Answering her unexpected attention he had poured all of his love, hope and desperation into this union that had tasted like heaven.

The passion she had expressed in her responding to his kiss had left Darcy with a spark of hope which had since refused to die. Somewhere deep inside her she was not indifferent to him despite all the accusations she had so strongly voiced. _Something_ in her yearned for his touch and returned his affections. But that spark was overshadowed by all the hurt, anger and disgust she equally felt. Love like a flame was in need of air to breath and prosper and the negative feelings Elizabeth so violently harboured would suffocate it soon enough, leaving Darcy no room for true hope.

He remembered her shock and disgust after she had pushed herself away from him. How she had seemed to loath herself for having responded positively to his inexcusable behaviour – and how she seemingly had believed that he had kissed her to prove her inferiority to her and him alike. It broke his heart that his passion had brought such self-doubt upon the woman he so deeply loved. He could not bear to leave her like this, believing she had debased herself or wronged in any way. He needed to find a way to clarify this with her.

Perhaps if he explained his actions, showed her a clearer picture of his motivations, told her about Wickham… Maybe she would understand eventually. She would understand him… and that this kiss was nothing to be ashamed of but a gift she had bestowed on him – an invaluable gift he would treasure for the rest of his life that he would lead without her by his side as his wife.

Their verbal exchange after her rejection echoed through his mind. He was stunned to realize how little he knew of her, of who she was, and yet how well he understood her nevertheless.

Elizabeth had obviously been shattered by the intelligence that he had separated Bingley from her sister. One of the things Darcy loved and adored so much about Elizabeth was her fierce loyalty, especially towards her elder sister Jane. So, no matter how natural and just his actions in the service of a close friend had appeared to Darcy back at Netherfield, thinking about it now, it came as no surprise that Elizabeth would take offence at his dealings once she knew about them. Her loyalty would have not allowed her to accept him under any circumstances, him - the person responsible for her sister's unhappiness – even if she _had_ loved him. And she was right – besides the notion that Miss Bennet had seemed indifferent to Bingley, he had never given her feelings any further consideration. And he should have, he admitted now, and if it had been just for Bingley's sake.

It pained him that one of the accusations Elizabeth had led against him – and which he had all believed to be the finding of her misguided perceptions of his character – had actually turned out to be true to the point.

Was there more?

She had defended Wickham. Rage and hurt welled up in him.

_Damn you, Wickham!_ _Why is it you always aim at the women closest to my heart? _

The agony of his sister's suffering at the hands of this scoundrel still made Darcy's skin crawl – and to imagine that Wickham had also targeted Elizabeth to set her up against him… Even worse, she had believed Wickham and allowed the bastard to ensnare her mind with his venom. Darcy cursed himself. Had he been more forthcoming with his intelligence about Wickham's doubtable character when they met in Hertfordshire, this could have been prevented. He would have to accept the blame for her wrong perception of Wickham as the victim of Darcy's alleged schemes. But at least he knew for certain that on this account, Elizabeth had actually been wrong.

But there was so much more – his derailed justifications for offering for her in the first place which he had intended to underscore the depth of his love for her, showing his determination to set aside everything he had been taught and expected to do all his life. Elizabeth's hurt of him accusing most of her family of showing lack of propriety whereas he himself managed to be improper three times in only a few minutes, seeking her out in a lonely, isolated spot without a chaperone, insulting her family and finally imposing himself on her with a kiss without consent.

He was at a loss of what to do. There was so much to say and rectify and so little time to do so. He could not expect to find enough time with Elizabeth in an uncompromising and yet private setting to convey all that needed to be explained. Then, it dawned on him.

_A letter. _

He shook his head and combed his hair with both hands in desperation.

_God, Darcy! Another impropriety. Another example Elizabeth was right. _

_Forgive me my blindness, my love._

It had to be. All he needed was an opportunity to hand it to her unwitnessed by others.

Another thought crossed his mind. Once he had given her the letter and received her negative answer to his honourable offer of marriage for imposing himself on her – _there was not the slightest chance she would say yes under these circumstances, was there?_ – he should away to London without delay. He could not expect her to endure his presence any longer after all the emotional distress she had suffered through him and still pretend an officially perfunctory acquaintance in the presence of others. That would not do. So, he would remove himself from Rosings. He could always cite urgent business matters calling him away on short notice.

He rang the bell for his valet to inform him of his decision to leave for London on first light in the morrow. Then he sat down and started to write.

„_Miss Elizabeth,  
_ _I shall not renew the sentiments that were so disgusting to you. But if I may I will address the two offences you have led against me…"_

_..._

The dinner party at Rosings had been informed by servants that Mr. Darcy would not join them, excusing himself with feeling unwell. Lady Catherine shared uninvited stentorian counsel as to how avoid taking ill in weather such as that of this rainy Sunday and reminded her daughter Anne to stay away from her cousin so she should not suffer his fate.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was immediately puzzled by this situation. Darcy was never _unwell_. On very care occasions he might have been ill, but never just unwell. This was so very unlike the Darcy Richard knew. The colonel's cousin always made a point of being composed even at times he might not be up to it, so this excuse had a wrong feel to it. And Richard was equally too curious and too caring a person to not have his interest piqued by Darcy's absence. Thereof he had offered to go upstairs and seek Darcy out to inquire about his well-being but even more so to see what was wrong with him.

As expected, Fitzwilliam found his cousin in his dressing room, just adding some final touches to an obviously extensive letter. Upon the colonel entering, Darcy folded the pages of the letter and put it aside.

Richard's first impression of his cousin was not necessarily one of someone being ill. But Darcy seemed quite subdued. Disheartened even. But the colonel was at a loss to see why.

„Darcy! I was told you are feeling unwell. Should we call for the last rites?"

Darcy shot him a dark look but waved him off, trying to sound appeasing. „Very thoughtful, Richard, thank you for your concern but it is nothing. Obviously I caught too much rain while walking today after church. All I need is a little rest and I shall be fine in the morrow."

Richard looked at him inquisitively for a moment. „It is funny that you would say that. The Collinses just arrived and excused Miss Elizabeth for feeling unwell, citing the same reason." The colonel raised an eyebrow and his voice adopted a playful, yet slightly questioning tone. „Anything you might like to share with me?"

Darcy had winced ever so slightly at the mention of Elizabeth's name but then raised his eyes to the colonel's and withstood his cousin's gaze with an expression of carefully acted-out indifference on his countenance.

„No." A clear refusal to accept further questions on this matter resonated in Darcy's answer.

Colonel Fitzwilliam could not help it. Something about his friend irritated him. There was an air around him of… _Well, of what?_ He raked his brain but could not pin a name to it. He was accustomed to Darcy's many faces of brooding and yet, this here was something different. This was not his usual taciturnity. But obviously Darcy did not intend to offer any insight on his frame of mind. And although Richard would never suspect his cousin of something debatable in connection with Miss Elizabeth, he still found this coincidence of mutual unwellness remarkable. His military-trained mind made a note to investigate this further – at some other time. Darcy's constitution did not seem to invite conversation. Fitzwilliam nodded in understanding.

„Ah. Yes. Good. I will return to the party and relay your excuses again."

„Thank you." Darcy cautiously let go of the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. If he had to fear anyone's inquiries to uncover his true struggles, it was Fitzwilliam's. But the colonel seemed oblivious to Darcy's tension… or he was just holding back his curiosity in order to launch an attack on his cousin on another occasion. Darcy knew he would have to be careful around him if he was to protect Elizabeth's reputation.

As Fitzwilliam was about to leave, Darcy called him back.

„Richard, so just that you know, I have received intelligence of some urgent business matters that need my immediate attending to in London. I will leave at first light in the morrow. Will you accompany me?" He would not risk the inquisitive colonel to linger anywhere near Elizabeth for her remaining days in Rosings.

Leaning back in his desk chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest, Darcy sported an amused smile. „Or would you rather prefer to extend your enjoyment of Aunt Catherine's impeccable hospitality?"

Fitzwilliam threw back his head and roared with laughter.

„Not for the life of me if you are giving me such an incontrovertible excuse to remove myself to some more inviting venue!"

Darcy was genuinely pleased by Richard's reaction. „Georgiana will be at Darcy House. She will be quite happy to see you again."

„Even better!" The colonel was clearly satisfied how this conversation had developed. His cousin's mood seemed to have recovered slightly. „It's off to London we go, then! See you in the morning."

With a smile, Darcy nodded to Fitzwilliam as the latter left the dressing room. Once the door had closed again, the smile vanished from Darcy's face in an instant.

Elizabeth was alone at the parsonage. The Collinses would be caught up at Rosings for the better part of the evening. Fate seemed to smile at him. At least for once on this bleak Easter Sunday.

If he ever was to hand Elizabeth his letter, now was his chance. Or never.

And she needed to know.

_..._

Darcy dismounted his steed in front of the parsonage and followed the gravel path that led up to the main entrance. As expected, the small house seemed abandoned with the exception of a dim light from a fireplace shining through the window of the small sitting room which Elizabeth occupied during her stay with the Collinses.

When he reached the door, he stopped, suddenly feeling incapable to proceed. The notion that tonight could be the last time he might ever see her again seemed unbearable. He conceded to himself that he had never realized just how much was missing from his seemingly blessed life before he had met Elizabeth. On his ride to the parsonage Darcy had tried to remember what life had been like before his visit to Hertfordshire but all his memories now seemed shallow and empty.

He knew in his heart that he could not leave her life without telling her that she had touched his life profoundly for which he would be forever thankful. Perhaps this would give them the chance to part on peaceful terms.

It could not be helped. Darcy took a deep breath and with a heavy heart finally pushed the handle and gently opened the main door. A look towards the sitting room revealed Elizabeth who stood in front of a small mirror, her back to him. He hesitated for a second on the doorsill, unsure how he would be received once she realized who had entered. But Elizabeth did not stir, nor did she acknowledge his presence in any other way. His heart sank. He had not expected to be ignored completely, although he could not say what exactly he _had_ expected. With diffident steps Darcy continued towards her back. As he approached he could make out her beautiful face as a reflection in the mirror before her. Her gaze was fixed on herself and to Darcy's surprise appeared deeply saddened. Her eyes did not move to meet his.

Oh, how he would miss those eyes.

„I came to leave you this." he said gently and placed the letter on the window sill. Still no reaction from her.

_Look at me._

Nothing.

Darcy lowered his head and continued in a low voice. „You took offence with my behaviour towards your sister and Mr Wickham. I can only hope that you will grant me the honour of reading this letter in which I address those offences in detail hoping-" He paused shortly. „- hoping that you might understand the motives that governed my actions."

He raised his head again, searching her eyes in the mirror.

_Elizabeth, look at me, please. I beg you_.

He blew out a breath. This was not getting easier.

„Concerning my… my behaviour at the rotunda… I.. You…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. „Miss Elizabeth, my behaviour might have been highly dishonourable, but despite the apparent existence of proof to the contrary, I _am_ an honourable man. And as such you may rest assured that I would offer for you again to secure your reputation… if you so desire."

_But we both know you do not_.

_Please, one look, just __**one**__…_

With his last words, Elizabeth had finally looked at him through the reflection in the mirror. She held his eyes with a steady gaze that was still sad and weary. But at least she was finally looking at him. Darcy took another deep breath.

_Thank you, my love._

He drowned in the sight of her beloved face with her sad, yet fine eyes which would haunt his dreams until the day he died.

Somehow he returned to the presence and found the strength to continue.

„This was not your fault. To me your reputation is unscathed. I am the only one to blame. But-"

Elizabeth closed her eyes.

_Do not look away, love. Please. I need to tell you what I feel and I need to tell it to your eyes so I can be sure you believe me. I could not bear to live on without you if you did not believe me. Please._

And as if she had heard Darcy's silent plea, Elizabeth's eyes flung open and glistened with unshed tears. They scurried to meet his look in the mirror's reflection and held it with an unguarded openness that gave him the courage to speak freely.

„But I am not ashamed of the deep feelings I conveyed to you this morning. And although, as a gentleman, I can not excuse my imposing myself on you with that… kiss…." He drew in a deep breath as a wave of emotion from that kiss washed over him and continued with a mere whisper, the words tumbling from his lips as if on their own accord. „…yet as a man I am incapable of bringing myself to regret it, either. It is something that will stay with me forever. And I will cherish your unveiled response to it for the rest of my life." He closed his eyes. „Forgive me my forwardness."

_For one small moment I felt your love for me. It will keep me going until the end of my days. _

After a moment of utter silence between them he opened his eyes again. Tears hat welled up in Elizabeth's eyes and seemed to tell him that she understood.

_Do not cry, my love._

Darcy had to restrain the urge to pull her into a tight embrace and assure her that all would be well. The inkling of a sad smile crept onto his face. He sighed scarcely audible.

„You were right – propriety seems to elude me easily when it comes to my feelings for you. I have to thank you for teaching me humility for that matter." His face transformed into honest adoration with a shy yet affectionate smile.

„And I thank Our Saviour for your path of life having crossed mine. If not as the woman I am to spend my life with, then at least as the teacher who inspired me to hopefully one day become a man who would have been worthy of your love."

_I will not forget, I promise._

The tears in Elizabeth's eyes ran down her cheeks uncontrollably now but she would not break eye-contact with him. Darcy's smile diminished. As much as he cherished her tears as a sign that she understood what he intended to say, it pained him at heart to see her in any more distress because of him. It was time to leave. He steadied his voice and straightened his composure.

„Please forgive me for having taken up so much of your time and accept my most ardent wishes for your health and happiness." Darcy paused for a moment, taking in her fine eyes and beautiful bewitching countenance one last time to memorize his Elizabeth for all those years to come… without her.

_I love you, my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth. I always will._

„God bless you, Miss Elizabeth."

With that he bowed distinctly, turned and left without another look.

* * *

_**A/N: If not yet posted, see the status of coming chapters on my profile page.**_


	4. Chapter 4 - Overcoming prejudice

_**A/N: Disclaimer - Some paragraphs of Darcy's letter belong to the 2005 movie version. I own nothing but my dreams involving a certain gentleman….  
I started a story diary on my profile page to fill you in on things going on in between posting chapters – if you want to know about the writing process or general status of upcoming chapters, that's the place to go **_**;-)  
**_**This chapter was difficult for me – hope I'm making any sense here :-P**_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Overcoming prejudice**

_Wait! Stay!_

Elizabeth could not tell if she had called after Darcy aloud or just in her thoughts. She had spun around and was now staring at the spot he had occupied, willing him to reappear before her. Her lips tingled and her cheeks were wet from all the tears still rolling down her face. Something she could not fathom had vanished from this room… and probably also from her life.

There was a strange feeling of loss she could not really account for - Elizabeth could not shake the impression that more than Fitzwilliam Darcy had left the room moments ago, leaving her feeling cold and abandoned. That strange emotion felt similar to what she had encountered this morning in those few seconds when Darcy had slowly broken their kiss and lingered against her face – before they had come to their senses again and realized the impossible situation they had been in. It was a moment in which her lips were mourning the loss of his touch and her body had instantly missed his sensual nearness that had caused her senses to explode like fireworks.

In the morning, though, that feeling had not persisted but instead had been washed away by a chaotic multitude of emotions that simultaneously crashed into her heart and mind, wreaking havoc on her composure – anger, shock, repulsion, fear, insecurity, irritation… but also surprise, excitement, wonderment and an uninvited rush of passion stirred up by Darcy's unexpected kiss.

When she had returned to the parsonage from their disastrous encounter at the rotunda this morning, Elizabeth had retired to her room immediately, thus avoiding any questions from Charlotte, let alone Mr Collins. She had been unfit for company, and theirs was the last she would have sought at that moment. Once in her bedchamber she had sat down onto her bed, her emotional turmoil quickly overwhelming her, and so she had collapsed onto her pillow crying hard and long. The very fact that Mr Darcy had confessed his ardent love for and proposed to her in one swift motion – seemingly out of nowhere – would have been enough to make her head spin, but the argument that had ensued after her strong rejection of his declaration and offer was more than she was able to bear. The ultimate climax though was that passionate kiss. A kiss she had had to admit had not really been imposed on her despite Mr Darcy's initiative but which they had both truly _shared_… One which _at that very moment_ had come so rightfully, so urgently, so naturally to her as if she had _belonged_. She had kissed him just as much and passionately as he had kissed her – and it had felt inexplicably right. And yet, of course it was all but. In fact, it was nauseously wrong on so many levels.

It was all so utterly confusing, she had no idea whether to feel enraged, shocked… or … _what_? Disappointed? Abandoned? Debased? Betrayed? Or even … thrilled? Passionate? Lost?

Unwilling to ponder the ramifications of the possibility that their kiss had been based on mutual attraction and passion of sorts, Elizabeth tortured her mind with desperately deviating questions as to why Darcy might have kissed her – that he could impose himself on her and get away with it? To prove to her his point as to how below his station she was by willingly accepting the inappropriate the advances of the Master of Pemberley? To show her what she was missing by rejecting him? Given all the abhorrent things she believed he had said and done, she would have wanted to accept any of those reasons – each would have fit so well into her neatly constructed repulsive picture of his character.

And yet… she could not but remember the look in his eyes shortly before he had kissed her – unguarded, honest, hurt, mesmerised. If that look had been any indication as to why he had kissed her, none of her elaborately considered reasons would be correct. Neither any other negative one.

Could he have kissed her only because he was desperately in love with her and just was not able to let go of his dream of being with her after she had rejected his offer – and his love – so violently?

Try as she might, the ambiguous and conflicting emotions involving their kiss had been overshadowing all the other reasons for their argument at the rotunda. They had kept demanding the spotlight of her mind's attention, repeatedly pushing the thoughts about the other issues into the background. In the course of the day her struggles had left her drained and dazed, her mind circulating endlessly around Mr Darcy's confession of love, his offer of marriage, the accusations that had been exchanged and the unexpected passionate end of their argument that still had her feelings in an uproar.

By the time night was falling she was exhausted, body and mind alike. The Collinses had left for Rosings to follow Lady Catherine's invitation for her Easter dinner and the house was quiet and dark. Her mind bleak and quite fitting the house's current atmosphere, Elizabeth had wandered aimlessly through the rooms, eventually finding herself standing in front of a mirror in the small sitting room downstairs. She looked at her reflection but did not really see herself. In so many ways she felt like a shell was staring back from the mirror – that she could not understand who the person was that was looking back at her. And she had no power left to ponder this question.

Elizabeth had not noticed Darcy entering the parsonage and coming to a halt some steps behind her. Only when he had started to address her had her mind realized that she was no longer alone. For some reason she had not been surprised to see him, nor had she been irritated by the impropriety of his late night visit – he had been on her mind all day long so vividly and all-encompassingly that it somehow seemed natural he would materialize in person.

He had come to give her a letter in which he had addressed her accusations towards him regarding his dealings with Jane and Wickham. First, Elizabeth had found herself unable to truly focus on his gentle words that filled the room hesitantly but instead had rather listened more intently to the sound of his deep, rich and soothing voice that vibrated along her bones in her body.

And then Darcy had offered for her again – this time not out of love but out of respect and honour to make amends for his imposing behaviour earlier that day. Trying to do the right thing like the gentleman he was. Again, he had put himself and his future at her mercy as he had that morning. Only that he would have known this second time that his honourable offer would be rejected – again. And yet, he had done it. Had not demanded it but offered it for her to choose. Offered himself knowingly and willingly to enter a marriage he must have been convinced would hold no love from her side, given the way she had reacted to his initial proposal.

She had finally looked at him through his reflection in the mirror. Elizabeth had never seen Darcy so unguarded, so emotional, so open. His sad, shy smiles, his unruly ruffled hair, the lack of his cravat and his open shirt that displayed some unsettling skin underneath… all that had created such an unexpected pleasant, fragile and vulnerable image of Darcy – young, hurt, proud, sensual, fiercely in love … _with me_. The loving, even pleading expression on his face had made Elizabeth hold her breath repeatedly. She was seriously touched by his unguarded openness which somehow reminded her of the honest emotions transpiring in his passionate kiss at the rotunda. All of her body seemed to prickle with the surge of emotion Darcy had poured from his eyes and soul through the mirror unto her like a warm shower when he had confessed to her that the _man_ Darcy would always cherish their kiss and her passionate response to it whereas the _gentleman_ Darcy could not excuse his behaviour enough.

And out of nowhere she suddenly wondered if she might have felt inclined to accept a proposal from _this_ Darcy. The man. The caring, open, unguarded, humble, vulnerable, passionately loving man. From this unexpected well of warmth and affection. She had to admit that she _had_ accepted a fiercely passionate kiss from _this_ Darcy only hours ago and although her intellect reprimanded her harshly for her wanton behaviour and him for his unthinkable breach of decorum, her soul still cherished the vision of a loving and uninhibited heart that the gentleman had let itself attach to her despite all that was dividing them.

At last, when he had told her that he wanted to change the man he was into one that would have been worthy of her love _despite her rejection of him_, Elizabeth had realized that she probably had touched Fitzwilliam Darcy's life like no other woman had before. Her heart somewhat broke over the display of humility and reverence from the man standing behind her whose eyes and countenance were as gentle, loving and affectionate as never before, and tears had started to run down her cheeks. She had understood that he was saying goodbye – and that he had not wanted to leave her with the bad impression she had left with that morning when they had parted.

He wanted her to remember him in a different light – one that would not hurt so much. For both of them.

As he had turned and left, she had looked mesmerised after his retreating figure, _knowing_ there was no reason to make him stay although she was _feeling_ that she should have made him anyway.

_Wait! Stay!_

When her heart had finally decided to cry for him to remain, it was too late.

...

After awhile in utter silence, Elizabeth remembered Darcy's primary reason for his late night visit and turned towards the window to pick up the letter he had deposited there. Her hands unconsciously caressed its edges while she took a moment to marvel at his handwriting of the letter's address _Miss Elizabeth_ – precise, even, strong - which seemed so like him. She broke the wax seal and was surprised by the volume of pages. Given the length of the document he must have spent the better part of the day penning it.

„_Miss Elizabeth,_

_I shall not renew the sentiments that were so disgusting to you. But if I may I will address the two offences you have led against me. My father loved Wickham as a son…"_

Darcy went on to relate a most distressing tale of greed, excess, lies and wrongful claims that shone a completely different light on the character of George Wickham, trying to take advantage of a grieving man he grew up with like a brother. But it would not stop there.

"_He came back to see us last summer. At which point he declared passionate love for my sister whom he tried to persuade to elope with him. She is to inherit 30.000 Pounds. When it was made clear that he would not see a penny of this inheritance he disappeared. I will not attempt to convey the depth of Georgiana's despair. She was 15 years old."_

At this point, Elizabeth had to stop reading and closed her eyes. She did not know when she had raised her hand to cover her mouth in shock over the intelligence that Mr. Darcy disclosed in his letter. The very thought of George Wickham betraying the two people he had grown up with like family in such a manner was unbearable. Even more so since she had trusted Wickham's words. A rake, a cad – a pretty face with charming manners in public – and she had fallen prey to his charming ways and easy machinations. She who always had prided herself at being such a splendid reader of characters. She was a fool. A complete and utter fool. She couldn't believe how cruel she had been towards Darcy in bringing this up against him – and there she had thought she had been intentionally cruel by telling him he was the last person she could ever think to marry. But to defend the cad to him who had used his little sister in such despicable manner for the sake of money – the sister who was Darcy's only remaining family and who he was responsible for as a brother and guardian to keep safe... Elizabeth was mortified and ashamed beyond compare. She felt nauseous.

How could he not abandon all feelings he might have ever had for her in light of her stupid foolishness? How could he not hate her fiercely now? And yet, the way he had addressed her just moments ago spoke a different language. That of continuous love. Love for her. Still – despite all the things she had thrown at him. How could he still love her? Adore her even? Call her a teacher who had enriched his life. Had taught him lessons he would cherish for the rest of his days. Thanking her for having crossed his path of life. For having touched him profoundly. _For having returned his kiss_.

Darcy turned out to be an enigma to her – a puzzle she was unable to solve. There were so many layers to his personality that it made her head ache. And just this morning she had thought to have him all figured out. But one thing was clear as day – he was a deeply feeling and passionate man. Passionate about herself, his sister, his family… and those few he considered his true friends.

"_As to the other matter – that of your sister and Mr Bingley – though the motives that governed me might to you seem insufficient, they were in service of a friend."_

As he went on to explain that he really had not seen Jane's attachment as what it was, he also admitted that he might have been wrong when taking Elizabeth's knowledge into account. Although she still censured his interference in a relationship that was not his to deal with, she understood, though, that as Bingley's best friend he might have felt compelled to voice his honest opinion when asked – as she would have done herself if she had found herself in a similar situation. And had she not misjudged him entirely and completely? So, how could she criticize him for making that mistake in regard to Jane? And Jane _had_ been very shy and private about her feelings for Mr Bingley. Charlotte had hinted to this as an issue at the Netherfield ball. So, such a mistake could have easily been done.

Elizabeth concluded that she could not really hold this mistake against Mr Darcy – as long as he rectified it now that he knew of it. She wondered if he ever would. If he was the honourable gentleman he prided himself to be, he would have to. He owed it to his friend. _And to Jane_.

After having addressed her accusations of his actions, Darcy wrote in length about her scathing verdict of his character. Without realizing it, Elizabeth held her breath throughout his explanations as they once again echoed his continued reverence for her.

"_Concerning your allegations regarding my character… You believe me to be arrogant, conceited and indifferent to the feelings of others. I cannot begin to express how devastated I am to understand that what you saw of me is what I believe to be a distorted picture of my character._

"_As I told you that evening at Rosings, I do not have the talent of conversing with people I do not know. Generally I guess I do not socialize well. That might be rooted partially in my personal uncomfortableness when in unknown company but also due to the society circles I move in. My aloofness stems from my awareness that most of the unmarried women of society – and their mothers – I encounter on any occasion only seem to seek a good match in terms of consequence and station. They strive to become Mrs Darcy of Derbyshire & Mistress of Pemberley but I believe they do __not__ strive to become my friend, my confidante or care to be my soul mate. They are more interested in what I represent than in __who I am or what I think__. Behaving indifferent and reserved, maybe even uninviting of conversation or company, is my possibly flawed way to keep these women at a distance and not make them believe I might encourage their suits. This might be the main reason why I can seem arrogant to others. You were the first woman I have ever met who did not treat me differently just because of my position in society and instead rebuked me for my behaviour. You have the extraordinary talent to see __me as a person__ rather than as a player in the shallowness of society's game of life._

"_Yes, I am proud, Miss Elizabeth. This much is true. I believe I have reason to be – I was still quite young when I inherited Pemberley, my beloved home, and became the guardian for my young and grieving sister. I still often miss my parents and wish I could ask my father for counsel on estate and business matters or my mother for advice on how to guide Georgiana into becoming the lovely, stunning woman I know she will be one day. But I can no longer. For those many years I struggled through all of this alone, and I believe – I hope – I did well. Yes, I am proud of my accomplishments. I am also proud of the family I come from – with two parents who loved each other beyond compare and shared their love with their children. And I too aspire towards such a connection with my future wife and children – one that is based on the deepest love, friendship, respect and equality in partnership. I cannot for the life of me imagine a connection with a wife solely on the basis of convenience and consequence, no matter how good a match it might be. I need – and I want – more. You have been the only woman I met in my eight and twenty years of life I could ever see myself in the sort of marriage that I truly aspire as described above. The fact of your humble beginnings in contrast to my position in society was something that admittedly troubled me at first, but which I was determined to set aside – finally. _

"_Which brings me to my expressing scruples about our relationship… Please allow me to explain that I was simply trying to be honest and truthful in disclosing my struggles to you. I believe you deserve nothing less. I wanted to show you that I was truthfully willing to step away from all I have been taught all my life, from all the expectations that have been placed upon my shoulders for as long as I can remember so that they became a second nature to me – because by the time I proposed to you today I believed beyond any doubt that having your love, having you for my wife would have been worth it all to accomplish a life of my dreams. Worth all the derision and reproach from my family and society that was to be expected. I was even willing to face the issues that would inevitably arise for my sister's future search for an appropriate match if I was to enter into a marriage with you – that being the biggest hurdle for me to jump as I would do everything for my sister's happiness. But I did jump it – for you. For me. For the possibility of creating __us__._

"_And – yes again, I criticized the lack of propriety as shown by most of your family on various occasions. Although I believe that when honestly reviewing my statement you might even agree with me on it being true in general, I now realize it was not my place to voice my opinion the way I did. Please accept my humble and sincere apology on this matter. Country society might not be as refined as the high circles of the _ton_, but come to think of it, all of what I found wanting in it on first glance is also to be found in the circles of High Society in London which believes itself to be so much above all others. My own Aunt Catherine de Bourgh is the best – or rather worst – example for impropriety among the _ton_. Her manners deserve as much censure as any other, if not more. Alas, it speaks ill of me to be voicing such thoughts about a relation to another person, so I guess I should add another apology for that slip in decorum as well. But I still stand by my opinion, though.  
And yet, when I review my actions today, I have to question my opinion nonetheless. Basically all of my dealings with you today must be considered highly improper, even up to the point of repeatedly threatening your reputation – something I will never forgive myself for. I had to realize today that propriety and decorum sometimes restrain my soul to a point of suffocation, valuing formality over matters of the heart too much at times. I do not want to justify what I did – only say that I could not help myself by __be__ myself today, to open my heart to you and show you who I really am. I do regret that the way I did that was so way out of line, but in general I do not regret me doing it.  
So, who does that make me to judge your family? A family who might not meet society's expectation in terms of decorum but seems to value matters of the heart and as a result has produced the most enchanting, engaging, beautiful, witty, intelligent, honest, caring and desirable soul of a woman I have ever had the honour to become acquainted with. _

"_Well, after so many pages I realize I have broken my promise from the beginning of this letter to not renew my sentiments I voiced this morning. Miss Elizabeth, there were so many things I wanted to tell you when I sought you out after church, but I am not good at finding the right words when speaking to someone, especially in moments that are emotionally difficult, and so many things just came out plain wrong. I will close this letter with my deepest hopes that my words herein have made my character and the intentions of my actions clearer, not for the purpose of absolving my conscience but because I cannot stand the thought of having hurt you by my thoughtless words tumbling from my mouth earlier today.  
Be assured, I do and will respect your refusal of my proposal and I offer my honest apologies that the way in which I brought my sentiments to your knowledge hurt and repulsed you. I assure you that nothing was further from my intentions when I made my offer._

_Forgive me._

_I will only add – God bless you, Miss Elizabeth._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Fitzwilliam Darcy"  
_

Elizabeth lowered the pages of the letter with fresh tears in her eyes. Through her blurred vision she gazed out of the window behind which his form had vanished into the woods, riding away from the parsonage…and away from her. Her initial feeling of loss multiplied. He truly loved her – for all the right reasons. She had to concede that she had wronged him so deeply. She had been such a fool. And so had he – but he at least had been a fool for love. She only had been a fool for prejudice.

_If only you had shown yourself to be __this__ Darcy before. Before tonight. Before you walked out of my life. Who knows what you could have been…. _

_An acquaintance? … A friend?...A husband…? … A soulmate…? _

But it was too late.

Overwhelmed with an abysmal sadness she realized that due to her actions of this day she would never have the chance again to find out.

* * *

_**A/N: If not posted yet, please find the status of upcomin**__**g chapters in my story diary on my status page.**_


End file.
